


What's The Worst That Could Happen?

by RegalPotato



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex Pollen, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalPotato/pseuds/RegalPotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Caitlin Trevelyan touches an Ancient Elven artifact, Cassandra and Varric feel it's effects the most. Sex Pollen Trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's The Worst That Could Happen?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satine86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/gifts).



> So this stems from a prompt I saw on tumblr (I can’t stop thinking about your hands on me) and also my horrendous love of the ‘[aliens/magic/spores/sex pollen] made them do it trope’. I planned to make it a fic full of UST but it kind of morphed into angst and then fluff instead? I don’t really know what happened if I’m honest…
> 
> Shout out to antivanruffles (Satine86 on here) for being a being a great sounding board, listening to me moan about how writing smut is hard, quelling my insecurities as a writer, and being my beta. My fanfic wouldn't be the same without you.

 

_What’s the worst that could happen?  
_

Caitlin Trevelyan opens her eyes to see the ceiling of the dark and now dusty room. Her head _hurts_. There’s a pounding behind her eyes and when she tries to sit up, a groan slips from her mouth.  
 

_What’s the worst that could happen?  
_

Apparently touching an ancient Elven artifact is not the smartest idea. As soon as she’d touched it, a bright green light had exploded outwards, knocking the four of them off their feet.  
 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” She groans out, rolling onto her side to view the rest of the group.  
 

“Well…it could be worse,” Dorian coughs and lifts his head off the floor. “We could be dead.”  
 

“You mean we’re not dead?” Varric sits up next to her, a wince flitting across his face.  
 

“If we are, the Chantry sure lied about a few things.” Trevelyan brings her knees up to her stomach and rolls onto them, putting her hands on the ground and using them to right herself. She pauses for a moment, woozy from the movement. “Cassandra?”  
 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” The Nevarran speaks from behind Dorian’s prone form, “urgh.”  
 

“Are we all okay?” Trevelyan asks.  
 

They all nod and then grimace in pain at the motion.  
 

Caitlin had been exploring the lower parts of Skyhold’s main castle with Dorian and Cassandra when Varric had found them. He’d apparently been sent by Leliana who wanted to discuss something of importance with the Inquisitor and Seeker. Just as Varric had arrived, the group had discovered what appeared to be an Elven object.  
 

At Varric’s insistent ‘What the worst that could happen?’ Caitlin had made to grab the artifact to bring back into the main castle.  
 

“We should get Solas to check on this,” Trevelyan says.  
 

She slowly gets to her feet and turns to help Dorian stand. Cassandra and Varric stand as well and the group makes their way back up to the fort.  
 

“Dorian, take Solas down to the artifact. See if he can tell us what it is and what it’s done to us.” Caitlin orders. “But for Maker’s sake, be careful. Everyone else, take it easy and inform me _immediately_ if something feels wrong.”

  
*  
 

Cassandra wakes with a breathy gasp. Her face is flushed, body drenched in sweat, thighs damp. She’s been dreaming. Her eyes widen, sleep addled brain connecting the dots. She’s been dreaming of _Varric._ She swallows thickly.  
 

 _Maker’s breath,_ she thinks.  
 

It’s not that Cassandra hasn’t thought about Varric in that way before, because Maker she has; especially after Trevelyan had given him shiny new, sleeveless armour. But she’s usually too tired to remember her dreams, and on those rare occasion where she does, her dreams tend to focus more on the sappy and romantic aspect.  
 

She runs a hand through her short hair and sighs. She takes a moment to fix her braid, which had come loose during the night, and then stretches away the remnants of sleep.  
 

Sunlight drifts faintly through the window, bringing with it faint sounds of the morning training. Cassandra lets out a curse, throwing back her blankets and grabbing her tunic. She dresses quickly and bolts down the stairs three at a time, grabbing her sword from the weapon rack as she passes.  
 

By the time she makes it to the training yard, morning drills are over and the troops have moved onto sparring exercises.  
 

“Lady Cassandra,” Cullen spots her and with a quick nod to dismiss the recruits beside him, he makes his way towards her. “I thought you had decided against joining us this morning.”  
 

“I’m sorry, Commander.” Her cheeks are tinged pink with slight embarrassment. “I am afraid I overslept.”  
 

“Happens to the best of us,” he laughs and motions her to join him. “You should try rousing Caitlin in the mornings.”  
 

She spends the rest of the morning sparring with Cullen and a few of the braver recruits. By the time noon rolls round, she’s exhausted. She makes a mental note to retire to bed earlier for the next few days and then heads to The Herald’s Rest for lunch.  
 

She’s taken one step inside the tavern when a messenger appears beside her. “Inquisitor Trevelyan requests your presence in the War Room, Lady Pentaghast.” Cassandra nods in thanks and dismisses the man. She sighs wistfully at the door to the kitchens and turns to leave the tavern.  
 

Dorian arrives just as she enters the main hall. He greets her and walks beside her to the War Room, having also been summoned. They arrive to find Trevelyan already there, along with Solas…and Varric.  
 

As soon as Cassandra notices him, her dream comes flooding to the forefront of her mind, vivid and explicit. She gasps, covering the noise with a cough. Heat floods between her thighs and it takes everything she has in her to bite back a moan.  
 

“Thank you for coming quickly. It seems we have a problem.” Caitlin explains.  
 

Cassandra risks another look at Varric. His face contains a pained expression and it seems as if he’s avoiding looking in her direction.  
 

Trevelyan gestures to Solas.  
 

“I had a look at the artifact you discovered yesterday afternoon. Whilst it seems to have been partially degraded with time, I did manage to read the text engraved on the item’s base.”  
 

There’s a slight pause until Caitlin bursts out with, “it’s part of an ancient Elven mating ritual.”  
 

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian stammers.  
 

“It…well…we have a really big problem.” Trevelyan shifts uncomfortably, eyes flicking everywhere except Dorian.  
 

“What’s happened to us?” Dorian prompts.  
 

“I can take a guess,” Varric mutters, his voice sounding strained.  
 

“The whole purpose of the artifact seems to have been about ensuring the continued survival of the Elvhen that once resided in Skyhold,” Solas explains. “So it would create bonds of attraction between suitable partners to ensure intimacy and therefore copulation.”  
 

“ _What?_ ” Dorian looks between them all, a panicked look in his eyes. “No offense to anyone here, but with the _very_ slight exception of Varric, I am decidedly not attracted to anyone in this room.”  
 

“Gee thanks, Sparkler.” Varric deadpans.  
 

“Are you saying you don’t feel affected?” Trevelyan growls.  
 

“Are you saying you all are?”  
 

“Dorian,” the Inquisitor grimaces. “Right now, I really want to have you naked on the war table. Mentally the idea is preposterous…and slightly nauseating; unfortunately the rest of me doesn’t seem to agree with my mind.”  
 

“Oh.”  
 

“And not one word of that sentence leaves this room. Ever.” Her tone of voice leaves no room for argument and Cassandra realises that Trevelyan has yet to tell Cullen of the situation.  
 

“Fascinating,” Solas says. “It seems even ancient Elvhen magic can’t change a person’s preference.”  
 

“So if Caitlin is attracted to me,” the Tevinter mage makes a face, pointedly ignoring Solas’ comment. “But I feel fine….what about you two?”  
 

Dorian looks meaningfully at Varric and Cassandra, a slight smirk settling on his face. Varric looks up from where he’s been scuffing the floor with the toe of his boot, eyes wide in trepidation.  
 

“What?” Cassandra chokes. “I’m fine.”  
 

Even to her own ears, her voice is an octave too high. Trevelyan raises an eyebrow.  
 

“I had some weird dreams last night, but other than that…”  
 

“I agree with the Seeker,” Varric’s voice still sounds strained to her ears. “I feel fine. Maybe only you were affected when you touched the damn thing?”  
 

Caitlin is quiet for a moment as she thinks.  
 

“Okay. I have enough faith in all of you to know you wouldn’t lie to me about this.” She sighs and turns to the elf. “Solas, please tell me you know how to fix this…with _out_ me laying with Dorian.”  
 

“I do not.” At Caitlin’s irritated look, he continues, “but I shall endeavour to find out. Dorian, if you wouldn’t mind perusing the library for any texts?”  
 

Dorian nods and shoots a concerned look towards the Inquisitor before leaving the War Room with Solas. Caitlin sighs again and pushes the palms of her hands into her eyes, “what’s the worst that could happen?”  
  


*  
  


Cassandra swallows heavily with guilt. She knows she should at least privately tell the Inquisitor that she too is affected, but as she leaves the War Room she finds herself unable to do so.  
 

“Lying to her Inquisitorialness,” Varric tuts as they enter the main hall, Trevelyan having been called over by Josephine as they passed through her office. “And here I thought you were a Seeker of _Truth_.”  
 

Cassandra ignores him, staring straight ahead as she walks towards The Herald’s Rest to _finally_ have something to eat. He matches her stride - impressive considering the length of his legs compared to her own - and she can feel his heat radiate against her arm.  
 

“And after all the shit you gave me for lying about Hawke…I’m disappointed in you.”  
 

“What do you want, Varric?” She speaks through clenched teeth.  
 

“You.”  
 

She stops dead and it takes him a second to notice. He turns around to face her and even though there’s mirth in his features Cassandra can see the tension in his jaw and around his eyes.  
 

“I…what?” She asks lamely.  
 

“Listen, Seeker.” Varric grabs her by the arm and pulls her to the side of the hall, away from the gossiping nobles. The touch of his hand burns her and she’s reminded of where else she wants his hands to be. “I _know_ you were affected by that blasted Elven thing.”  
 

“How…?”  
 

“Because you look as uncomfortable as I feel.”  
 

“You…”  
 

 “Yes, Seeker,” he sighs. “I too would quite happily have you naked on the War Table.”  
 

She’s not sure if it’s possible to blush with your entire body, but the way she heats up at his words makes her wonder.  
 

“Trevelyan asked Chuckles if there was a way to fix this without sleeping with Sparkler; which makes me think we could fix ourselves, without anyone ever having to know.”  
 

“ _By sleeping together?_ ” Her voice is shrill and her throat feels tight.   
  


Varric hastily quietens her, looking over his shoulder at the other occupants of the hall. “Andraste’s tits, Seeker, _do_ you want everyone to know?”  
 

“We’re not _sleeping_ together, Varric.” She bites out an exasperated whisper.  
 

“Why not?”  
 

“Because…because,” she falters, positive that a blush will be permanently seared over her cheeks from now on. “Because you’re…you. And…I’m…”  
 

He raises his eyebrows questioningly, a smirk forming on his mouth. She makes a disgusted noise and rips her arm from his grip, more so to stop the building pressure in her body than for any discernible reason.  
 

“How do you even know it would work?” She finally hisses.  
 

He shrugs, cocky smirk still gracing his features.    
 

“I…you…urgh!” Cassandra storms past him.  
 

“Cassandra, wait!”  
 

It’s her name, her actual name, spilling from his lips that gets her to stop and face him again. It’s rare to hear Varric utter it, and even when he does it’s usually in reference to her, not direct. She’s ashamed to feel how it affects her, heat flooding to her face and between her thighs, and she’s not entirely sure her reaction is due to the artifact alone.  
 

“I’m…sorry,” he says and Cassandra has to stop her jaw from dropping open in shock. “This might surprise you, but I’m pretty bad at dealing with heavy stuff. I make jokes out of it instead.”  
  
  
When she doesn’t respond, he continues.  
 

“You’re…Maker, Cassandra… I want you.” he swallows, fear heavy in his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “I _need_ you.”  
 

Her eyes widen at his admission and if this were one of Varric’s books, she knows she’d be feeling her heart flutter in her chest.  
 

She wants to grab him, smash her face to his, hands everywhere, to feel release against the nonstop pressure. But instead, panic ruling her decision, she flees.  
 

*  
  
  
Cassandra tries to take matters into her own hands, pun very much not intended, but no matter how well she knows herself, nothing gives her the release she craves. She spends the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth in her room above the blacksmiths, eating little; a bit of bread and water to stave off the hunger, nerves too strong to stomach something more.  
 

There’s no word from Solas, Dorian or the Inquisitor, and she eventually admits to herself that Varric might be right. What harm would there be in trying to solve this themselves?  
 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” She mutters to herself with a bitter smile.  
 

When she reaches Varric’s room, her courage fails her and she spends another five minutes pacing nervously. At least three times she makes to leave, before angrily storming back, intending to knock on the door. Each time her hand falters before her knuckles touch the wood.  
 

Eventually his door opens. Varric stands there - looking as awful as she feels - surprise on his face at seeing her outside his room. His head is tilted slightly, looking quizzically towards her.  
 

“I…”  
 

She has a hundred things to say; apologies, declarations, a sane discussion of the situation. Instead, she speaks without thinking.  
 

“I can’t stop thinking about your hands on me. And it’s driving me to madness.”  
 

Varric is speechless. If not for the fact that she’s currently too horrified to think, Cassandra would have been amused at the rare occasion. She swallows thickly and averts her gaze, a heavy wave of embarrassment washing over her.  
 

She’s about to beg Varric to say something, but before she can, he grabs her by the wrist and tugs her forcefully into his room. One moment she’s struggling to maintain her balance, in the next, he’s pulling her down to crash their mouths together.  
 

Cassandra gasps in surprise and Varric seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Part of her still wants to back out, to run to the Inquisitor and admit everything. But then Varric flicks his tongue against hers and that part of her mind goes blank. She moans into his mouth and the sound seems to jolt Varric to his senses. He tears himself from her and runs a hand over his face.  
 

“Shit, Seeker. We can’t do this…I mean _I_ can’t do this.”  
 

She bites her lip and stares at him with a furrowed brow, too confused to speak.  
 

“I thought it’d be easy. I get to spend a night with you, we fix our problem, and then it all goes back to normal,” his voice is hoarse.  
 

“Varric…”  
 

“I wasn’t lying earlier, when I said I want you. But shit, I _like_ you, Cassandra. And I don’t want this to just be some way to fix this problem.”  
 

Refusing to let her nerves make her flee once more, Cassandra throws caution to the wind and steps towards him. She grabs the edges of his tunic, feeling his chest hair brush against the knuckles of her thumbs, and pulls him into a planet shattering kiss.  
 

After a moment, she pulls away and rests her forehead on his, both of them breathing heavily.  
 

“This isn’t just fixing the problem.” She breathes.  
 

Before she realises what’s happening, Varric spins her around, switching positions with her, and slamming his door closed.  
 

And then his hands are on her, one on her hip, the other threading through her hair, and she’s being pushed backwards towards his bed. The backs of her knees hit the mattress and Cassandra’s breath hitches.  
 

Varric falters at the sound.  
 

Cassandra smiles at him, breathing a soft laugh through her nose, and in one fluid motion, pulls her tunic up and over her head. Varric watches it fall to the floor; it hits the ground with a soft thump and she can hear him swallow heavily.  
 

Her smile turns into a smirk.  
 

Cassandra sits, the motion drawing Varric’s attention back to her, and heat floods through her at the hungry look in his eyes. Sat on the bed he’s taller than her and the thought makes Cassandra squirm, the ever present ache of the last day intensifying.  
 

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips.  
 

She bites back a moan as Varric pushes her legs apart, moving to stand between her thighs. He tilts her head back - and oh Maker the height change is messing with her head - and draws her into a deep, sensual kiss.  
 

Cassandra practically whimpers, hands clenching at the material over Varric’s hips.  
 

His hands, warm and large and heavy on her shoulders, push her gently back onto the bed before moving down her sides. He straddles her waist – and he fits so much better across her than he ever has in her dreams - and his mouth finds her shoulder, teeth grazing over her collar bone, tongue lapping at her skin.  
 

She moans deeply and Varric pauses, forehead resting just above her breast.  
 

“Seeker, this isn’t going to last long if you keep making all those noises.” He growls and the sound vibrates through her chest.  
 

“Then stop teasing and get on with it.” She groans.  
 

Varric obeys her command, tearing her breast band off her with an almost wild abandon. She inhales sharply at being exposed to the cold air, but Varric is quick, his mouth hurriedly descending on her breasts.  
 

She can feel his hands work on the lacing of her trousers and her own hands reach out to grasp at back of Varric’s head, back arching, hips canting, as his tongue does _something_ against her breast.  
 

“Maker,” she breathes, nails scraping against his scalp.  
 

Cassandra can feel him smirk against her.  
 

Varric finally finishes unlacing her breeches and he pulls back to help pull them off. His expression darkens, lust filling his eyes, as his gaze lingers over her lack of small clothes.  
 

“Varric,” she smirks, jolting him out of his daze.  
 

He continues to undress her, but the material of her trousers snags on her boots. She laughs at his curse, his hands fumbling on the laces.  
 

“I thought rogues were meant to be good with their hands,” Cassandra’s laugh turns into a yelp as Varric leans down to nip at her thigh.  
 

“If I could get these bloody boots off you,” he mumbles into her skin. “I’ll show you just how good my hands are.”  
 

His voice is low, husky with frustrated lust, and Cassandra throws her head back against the pillow with a contented sigh.  
 

Her boots slip off and so do her trousers, and she’s suddenly very bare beneath Varric’s gaze.  
 

Cassandra hasn’t felt this vulnerable in a long time, but the adoration in Varric’s eyes, and the way his hands, hot and burning, slide a path up her legs, calms her unexpected nerves.  
 

“Varric.”  
 

At first, she’s not quite sure what it is she wants to tell him, instead focussing on the way his fingers tighten on her as she softly utters his name. Slowly, the realisation dawns on her.  
 

“Varric, you’re still clothed.” She tells him, her voice half way between a laugh and a moan.  
 

Varric leans down and smirks against her thigh before sucking gently on the skin. Cassandra’s hips buck.  
 

“Varric.” She growls.  
 

He looks up at her with a smile, hair coming loose from the band that usually holds it in place, strands falling into his face, and Cassandra briefly wonders whether she feels like this because of the artifact or because it’s _Varric._ His fingers press against her and she _knows_ it’s not ancient magic making her feel this way.  
 

Varric’s fingers move, sliding against her entrance – because Maker take her she’s never been this wet in her _life_ – before finally pushing inside. And though she’ll never admit it to anyone, Cassandra whines.  
 

He’s slow and gentle and it’s wonderful, but not enough to release the pressure that has been building. She grasps at the bottom of his tunic to make her point. He understands, his fingers slipping out of her as he moves to rid himself of his shirt.  
 

Cassandra uses the opportunity to grab Varric and flip him beneath her. He yelps in surprise and then groans when she ruts herself against him. Too impatient to undress him as he did her, she rips open the laces on his breeches and pulls them down along with his small clothes, leaving the material bunched at his ankles.  
 

Cassandra grabs his cock, earning a groaned curse from Varric, and steadies herself before sinking down on him. She pauses as heat shoots through her, a small part of her wondering if all dwarves were this impressive or if Varric was the exception. Varric’s fingers grip her hips tightly, fingers splaying down towards her ass and tugging her forward. She moves experimentally, gasping at the building sensation. Her movements soon quicken, hands steady on Varric’s chest, his hips bucking against hers in perfect timing.  
 

It’s not long before she can’t stop herself whispering his name repeatedly along-side that of the Maker’s, fingers clenching against Varric’s chest hair. The un-relievable pressure peaks and suddenly Cassandra is screaming Varric’s name, hips jerking out of rhythm, waves of heat rippling through her body. Her orgasm must be enough for Varric as a moment later he’s crying her name, her actual name, and pulling her down for a bruising kiss.  
 

She collapses on top of him, feeling the warmth of his arms as he wraps them around her. Sleep claws at the edges of her mind as Varric nuzzles against her temple.  
 

“I think I love you.” She murmurs sleepily against his shoulder.  
 

“The feeling’s mutual, Seeker.” She can feel him smile into her hair.  
 

The last thing she feels before sleep claims her is Varric’s arms tightening their hold.  
 

*  
 

Sunlight streams through the window, rousing Cassandra from her slumber. Her eyes flutter open and for a moment she’s full of confusion. Then Varric shifts beneath her, warm and solid and _hers_ , and she smiles.  
 

“Morning.” She breathes.  
 

His eyes open slowly, a soft smirk forming on his face.  
 

“I’m glad I don’t dream.” He laughs. “Would have been disappointing to find out last night wasn’t real.”  
 

Cassandra laughs with him, unabashed and happy, before sitting up and stretching. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes roam over her as she does so.  
 

“Do you think we fixed the effects of the artifact,” she asks after a moment.  
 

Varric pulls her down for a soft kiss, mumbling against her lips. “I don’t care.”  
 

She smiles, rolling her eyes and pushing him away. He protests as she moves off him to stand, finding her discarded clothing and dressing slowly.  
 

“You’re teasing me aren’t you?” Varric groans.  
 

Cassandra remains quiet, but the smirk which graces her face is obviously her answer.  
 

She’s bending down to tie the laces of her boots when there’s a knock at Varric’s door. Cassandra freezes, fear suddenly taking hold in her chest. She turns to Varric to see a similar expression on his face.  
 

“Yeah?” He calls out nervously.  
 

“Oh good, you are awake then.” Dorian’s rich tones filter through the door. “The Inquisitor’s figured out how to reverse the artifact.”  
 

Cassandra’s eyebrows rise in surprise and at Varric’s silence she gestures for him to answer the mage.  
 

“Oh…how?” Varric asks lamely.  
 

“She just has to touch it again.” Dorian’s laugh displays his obvious amusement at the situation. “She wants you, me, and Cassandra there to make sure the situation is as it was before. She’s waiting for us in the War Room.”  
 

“Okay, I’ll be there soon, just let me get dressed.”  
 

“I’m just on my way to grab Cass anyway.”  
 

“No!” Varric yells out in panic.  
 

Cassandra gives him an incredulous look.  
 

“I mean, I’ll grab her. You head to the War Room.”  
 

“Okay, bye Varric.” Dorian laughs. “Bye Cassandra.”  
 

“Wha…” Cassandra stutters in surprise. “How did you know?”  
 

Deep, joyful laughter comes from the other side of the door and embarrassment floods over Cassandra’s cheeks.  
 

“Ha, I had a hunch. You just confirmed it for me.” He tells her, voice heavy with a smug tone. “Oh Caitlin’s going to gleeful. She might even forgive you for lying to her without any grovelling on your part.”  
 

She hears Dorian leave, still laughing at the situation. She sighs.  
 

“You okay, Seeker?”  
 

Cassandra turns to Varric to see him standing, fastening the laces on his breeches. She passes him his shirt and stands from her crouched position on the floor.  
 

“Yes,” she exhales as Varric pulls his shirt over his head. “I just wanted to keep this about _us_ for a short while before the gossip spread around Skyhold.”  
 

Varric smiles at her. He reaches up to grab her chin, pulling her into a chaste kiss.  
 

“It’s _Skyhold_ , Seeker.” His smile widens. “Anyone would take one look at either of us and just _know_.”  
 

“I suppose you are right.” She laughs softly. “Come; let’s go stop Caitlin from wanting to jump Dorian’s bones.”  
 

He joins in with her laughter, grabbing her hand and leading her out of his room.  
 

 _What’s the worst that could happen, indeed?_ She thinks.

  

 

 


End file.
